Interlude III: The Prophecy (Part 1)

Chalcea had been agitated all day, and as evening approached, it only got worse. It made no sense—eighteen was an important age for normal humans, and sure, she might have been more excited for it if she were human. Except, she wasn’t human, and she didn’t feel any positive anticipation for tonight, not when all that had been planned was a family gathering—an intimate one, no thralls or progeny allowed, but still just the same as had been planned ever since she became old enough to expect special treatment for her birthday.

As a dhampir, being eighteen was merely what happened in the year between being seventeen and being nineteen. It wasn’t the big coming-of-age that humans saw it as. Chalcea’s physical ageing had already slowed, too; whenever she snuck out of the estate to enter the human parts of the city, people kept assuming she was only fourteen or fifteen. This hadn’t been so bad last year or the year before, but lately she’d become increasingly annoyed by it. She didn’t know how she was going to stand it when she turned twenty—fully of age even by her father’s archaic standards—and still looked all of fifteen.

Maybe full immortality would fix it. Chrys once told her that he’d been turned at the ripe age of thirty, and he looked to be in his mid twenties. Only, Chalcea’s father didn’t want to hear of it—for one, eighteen was a bit young, and for another, Canus was still holding out on them all.

Speaking of the devil, the younger of her two older half-brothers was the first to arrive at the Lavender Parlour (Chalcea’s favourite room in the receiving areas of the estate). It was just after sunset on the longest night of the year, and he must have come straight from work, wearing the tweed-and-wool uniform of mortal academics.

‘Happy birthday, Kelsey,’ he said upon entry. ‘Many happy returns.’ He hung up his coat and gathered her in a warm embrace.

She grinned up at him. ‘I’m not Kelsey tonight,’ she protested. ‘I’m Chalcea, and you’re Canus.’ When he released her, she added, ‘And happy solstice, brother mine.’

‘And to you as well; happy solstice.’ He looked around the room, bright with electric lights.

Chalcea hadn’t wanted to bother with witchlights, so she’d just turned on the lights that had been installed for the ease of their thralls’ tidying endeavours. Like this, the space was all lurid lavender and glittering gilt, which hadn’t actually been Chalcea’s intent when redecorating. This room looked its best in the subdued glow of witchlights, all soft lace and subtle highlights.

She was about to offer to make witchlights and ask Canus to hit the light switch when Canus spoke first: ‘Where’s Father?’

‘Probably at the shrine,’ she answered. ‘You know how he gets this time of year. And there’ll be court tomorrow.’ Her birthday (birthnight?) fell on the evening before the full moon this year.

Canus gave her a sympathetic look, stepping up again and squeezing an arm around her shoulders. ‘Did you want company? I don’t have anything until evening on the twenty-third, so I can probably stay up with you tomorrow night.’

Chalcea shrugged. ‘If you don’t mind.’ She suddenly looked up with a wicked grin. ‘What have you got on the evening of the twenty-third? That’s not even Christmas Eve.’

Canus took his arm away and scowled. ‘Never you mind, nosy brat.’

She made a show of sniffing. Dhampirs didn’t have the sensory prowess of full immortals, but they had enough to distinguish the more basic scents, especially of familiar objects.

‘Linen paper,’ she said with confidence, ‘and your favourite ink—you know, it’s the twenty-first century. There are such things as mobiles. Video conferences, even. Surely you’ve used Skype for your job. Or do universities prefer Microsoft Teams?’

‘I don’t see how you’re so knowledgeable about human technology when Father barely lets you out to see sunlight most days.’

‘It’s called the Internet, dolt, and you won’t distract me. You’ve kept up with the longhand letters? How romantic.’

Canus looked away, blushing faintly and settling himself in the nearest chaise longue. ‘It’s not like that between us. We’re just friends. She’s too young.’

The strange agitation that Chalcea had been feeling all day was increasing by the minute. ‘You’ve said that already,’ she said, letting a tinge of annoyance into her voice. ‘But if you’ve continued writing to each other, then she obviously doesn’t mind how decrepit you are.’ A pause, then, just a little cruelly, she added, ‘Unless she’s leading you on—is she?’

‘No! Of course not. It’s just—she doesn’t realise how old I am. It wouldn’t be fair.’

This brought Chalcea up short. She gaped for a brief moment before following Canus to his seat. ‘You haven’t told her who you are? I mean, it’s not like we’re particularly unrecognisable, so it’s her fault for not realising in the first place, but surely you’ve had the chance to tell her by now. Two wrongs don’t make a right, you know.’

‘It’s not—’ Canus grimaced, then continued, ‘I misspoke. It’s not that she doesn’t realise; it’s that she doesn’t know. She can’t—I mean, it’d be against the rules.’

‘A human?’ Chalcea was astonished. She’d assumed that he’d set his sights on a witch or something. Even a werewolf might be better than a human. ‘What do you plan to do when… you know,’ she eventually said.

Canus shrugged. ‘Let her pull away, I suppose. She’ll realise that there’s a life for her out there eventually.’

‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ Chalcea offered. ‘This way, you won’t have to tell Father about her.’

Canus just shrugged again.

The door to the parlour creaked open after a brief pause. ‘Tell me about whom?’ asked the Prince of London.

‘Daddy!’ Chalcea exclaimed before taking a running leap into his arms.

As vampires were wont to do, he caught her with ease. ‘Happy birthday, my dear. Manny happy returns of the day.’

Canus stood up also. ‘Good evening, Father.’

‘Evening, Canus. Whom did you plan to keep from my knowledge?’

Chalcea had turned around in her father’s arms by then, sending Canus an apologetic look.

‘Just a student at the college whom I’ve befriended—a human.’

The Prince seemed to lose interest immediately. ‘So long as you’re being careful, Canus, you know I won’t mind. I just don’t want any quarter-vampires running around before we’ve figured out how to deal with this succession crisis of ours.’

Chalcea bit her lips. It was always upsetting to hear her father talk about succession in such an offhand manner, as if his own final death and subsumption by one of his own children was something that he was looking forward to. He was very old—she knew that, but it hurt to think that he was so tired that he might not want to stay around to watch her grow up. She could only hope that he might hold out for another half century.

The unrest gnawed at her from within, rising to a fever pitch. Finally, Chalcea recognised it for what it was. ‘Oh, bother,’ she said, and felt her father’s arms immediately release her.

She closed her eyes, reaching deep within herself, pulling apart the threads of fate all around them, tugging at the weave until it became just loose enough that she could peek through it to the underside of the tapestry of their lives. Her attention was brought immediately to the looming convergence ahead. Time was strange in this state, so she knew neither how much time had passed since she realised she was going into oracle mode, nor how far away this convergence might be, but she could see the twists and patterns of all her nearby threads, twining around each other and her own as they struggled to maintain a certain motif.

Slowly at first, then unbearably bright, she finds the words:

‘She comes—the eldest child of princely get,

So born undeathly is our future queen.

In gold through silver be her provenance,

And with her bring a new regime serene.

Behold with awe her virgin majesty,

Illuminated by undying light.

Despite the chaos looming ever near,

Beneath her banner we shall all unite.’